2:35 PM

Yay Thanksgiving. To celebrate this holiday I will be live blogging my departure into drunken turmoil, predictions of which I’ve made below.

Before heading out, I’ve been finishing the last hun-do of Uncle Tom’s Cabin and starting in on one of the various counterpoints I’ll be reading this term; some lovely pro-slavery literature including Uncle Robin in His Cabin in Virginia, and Uncle Tom without One in Boston, followed by the far more succinctly titled Tit For Tat, and finally, Diddle Dumps and Tot. That last one threatens to be a late 19th century nostalgic reminiscence of the good-ole days of slavery, told through three young plantation girls growing up with their respective child maids. One goodreads reviewer had this to say:

Written from the early life of the author it is what may be deemed a very “politcally incorrect” story. But this just makes the book even better.

You don’t say!?

Well, it’s true that Thanksgiving certainly does fall in line with the horrendously oppressive and violent events characteristic of American history. Or, as some claim, the holiday may have absolutely no meaning whatsoever, save possibly to serve as a sort of carb-o load for the racially charged post-holiday extravaganza (still!) known as Black Friday.

Who came up with this genius idea anyway? Let’s all take a break at the exact same time, go to the store to attempt to purchase the exact same produce and poultry, try our best to squeeze on to the last five direct flights left in this country, and just generally shut the whole fucking thing down so that we can keep up airs with distant family members we’d have called if we really cared to see, and stuff ourselves full of food and booze until we bust from every possible hole. The only thing open on my walk to the liquor store was the gym, and good, cause you fatties are gonna need it!

So I assume at least four things have and/or will inevitably happen today.

(1) I will formally debut some newfound health craze and subsequently fail to maintain its required regiment by the time the little red dot pops on the turkey.

  • (1.1) HOWEVER, I will likely pretend that I have not broken my promise to cease destroying my body with delicious hatefulness and succeed at snacking in private whenever possible. This activity will remain unseen until I’m suddenly and unexpectedly revealed, shoveling myself full of baked goods in the restroom, left to digress into an emotional, drunken diatribe about the uncertainties of my life or that fact that I’m still single or something homotragical of the sort.

(2) I will get into an argument with someone foreign (likely the roommate).

  • (2.1) By the way, if one more too-hip-for-shave-cream dipcock barista tells me I “really should seep English Breakfast for a few moments before adding milk” – you know, because somehow a spoonful of lukewarm leche dramatically alters the properties of extraction for which effective brewing is so inseparably dependent; or because “that’s how some guy told me they do it in England” or whatever – I would just like to remind you that the lazy British bastard who corrected your “posture of seep” probably didn’t put a buck in your tip jar, so yeah, feel free to remind the foreign bourgeois of New York’s phonetically altered that there’s a lot of things done differently here.
  • (2.2) AMERICA!

(3) I will shamelessly eat a whole pie, pretend I’d never seen it to begin with, then commence in assisting in the search to locate it, because I’m actually just that shitty (please note this will happen well after 1.1, hence why it gets its own bullet).

(4) Something terribly shitty will happen.

4 has already taken place, as I’ve been informed that a good friend was fired from his job yesterday – the day before Thanksgiving – reaffirming my belief that terrible, hateful and seemingly ceaseless happenings of heartless self-interest will only continue to manifest themselves today, much as they do on most days; poorly guised as good-natured attempts at maintaining fruitful, interesting capitalism. I’m thankful for the continued death of the heart of this country, for without it, what would I have to write about? BUT, I will admit I’m hopefully optimistic that I will be proven wrong, seeing that good company can often trump even the most cynical of crappy personages (such as myself). Cheers!

Anyway, I’m off to Jill’s where surely hilarity will ensue.

3:32 PM

Made it to Jill’s. After ringing her buzzer I heard a sawing sound and, low and behold, shittyness. Some guy hiding under a tarp next door was trying to saw the lock off the neighbor’s motorcycle. So we call the cops, who listen to the man cry and essentially set him free. I mean, I get it, but if that were my shit I’d be pissed.


Anyway, Jill had a shitty Thanksgiving once – decided that she was depressed and wanted nothing to do with anyone (reasonably so), she lied and told everyone she was going out of town. At the time she was living below me in a basement apartment with nothing more than shoebox sized windows that would certainly mean death in cases of fire.

She fooled the world, sat at home relishing her privacy, and attempted to have a peaceful holiday of self-reflection. That was until she found herself locked out of her own apartment in her underwear. And so she commenced to break in from one of those high little basement windows, below which sat the cat’s filthy litter box…

“…and I’m like, head first, hangin’ over the thing and thought, I could fall in this and it’d BE OKAYAH, cause nobody would see me. And so I’m like Mission Impossible up above that shit, and that shit is AKRO-BAH-TICK, and I pull myself out and over to safety and I’m like ‘nobody saw that, so does it count?’”

She was eventually so enamored with her heroic achievement that she came out of hiding. That dovetails into my own story with Lauren that same day, when we decided for some reason that we needed coke, and bought it outside what was Bushwick Beauty Bar from a guy on the street named Curtis Valentine and – as one can maybe image – it ended poorly.

Lauren – “Why is this shit so hard… I can’t crush it up… THIS SHIT FEELS LIKE GLASS!”’

Oh memories.

3:55 PM

Just ate a pot gingersnap…. this won’t end well.

4:43 PM

Per request

 4:46 PM





Justin- “YUP”

5:00 PM

Lauren has Jill cornered by the stove.

Justin – “I told you she was comin’ hungry.”

5:10 PM

Jill – “I don’t have gravy….”

Andy – laugh hard

Jill – “I tried it once and it really did not work out…. and I even had a whisk”

Turkey in twenty. I’ll keep you posted

5:51 PM

Shit is gettin’ reeeeeeeal

Lauren is hungry, this has been confirmed. She’s rolling up her sleeves and starting to get that ”Imma fuck some shit up” look.

That is a big ass bird.

Lauren is investigating, Jill is wielding knives, hilarity ensues…

7:51 PM

Complete coma. Lauren won’t do any dishes. Something real is happening about it. I don’t even know where to start.

9:32 PM

I got home and the house was filled with pilgrims.

10:20 pm

In case you missed it, Black Friday has actually already started tonight, Black Thursday Night, formerly known as Thanksgiving.

1:52 AM

Well this post was a complete shit show. ■

– A


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